


Impostor (PIC FICS involving HP females)

by Bridgette_Hayden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/F, F/M, Fan Art, Fanart, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Molestation, Multi, Other, Polyjuice Potion, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21549439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridgette_Hayden/pseuds/Bridgette_Hayden
Summary: Hermione waits for Draco, but someone else shows up. (This is where the "pic-fics" involving the HP ladies will go. Each chapter will be a different one-shot. It might get serious, it might get utterly ridiculous, but it'll be fun. AU, NON-CANNON, MIXED SLASH/HET, POSSIBLY NON-CON/RAPE!!)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I make no money. JK Rowling is the real owner and genius of her characters.

Credit: JudyDepp at Deviantart

PIC FIC: Impostor (requested by タン ダニザ )

* * *

A/N: This is only meant to be a few words inspired by this picture. This is het, not my usual, so I created a separate space for it.

*******

She was too smart to fall for it. She was too realistic to believe the image in the mirror. And yet, she didn’t run. She waited. Waited to see if Victor could pull it off. Just because he got the look right, didn’t mean she could let herself play along. She needed him to get everything right. Draco’s look, his walk, his sneer, his confidence, right down to those long, elegant hands.

Just because Victor had seen them that night, spied on them, and now knew what they did on Thursday nights after hours, didn’t mean she was okay with it. Draco hadn’t known he was hiding in the stall. Hiding and waiting on her, or waiting on any of the girls. It must’ve been rough at Durmstrang, an all boys school. It must’ve left him quite desperate.

She’d spotted him in the mirror. Through Draco’s feverish touches, as he rubbed her from behind. That was her favorite. She’d heard the squeak of the toilet seat. Her vision had narrowed between the hinges of the stall behind them, and she recognized that bit of prominent forehead, that thick eyebrow, goggle-eyed intensity, and full lips beneath the shadow of a mustache.

She’d done her best not to scream. Not to panic. All she needed was a dual between these wizards, that would wake everyone in the school. She’d clasped the sink, steadied her nerves, and let Draco continue uninterrupted. They only had the one night a week, and god knows she deserved this. She’d gotten used to it. Come to love it, in fact. She knew Draco’s touch and his manner. He wouldn’t hesitate so, coming out of the stall the way Victor was doing. The eye contact they made in the mirror, wouldn’t be so filled with caution. It was exciting, but this was Friday night, not Thursday, and this wasn’t Draco. Victor wore the image well.

The first time, sixth year, Draco had been so apologetic after years of name calling. Especially with his hands. She hadn’t trusted his whispers, his horribly cruel good looks, or the gifts he gave her to make up for so much immaturity. But she learned to trust the patience he gave her. They spent a whole year just talking things out. One day, his long fingers reached for her robe, and she didn’t pull away. He knew how important it was, to let a girl get used to his hands, before she could let him do more. He knew how to restrain those fingers until she put them where she wanted them.

That was her first orgasm with another person, and there was no going back after that. There was now too much stress and too much freedom to settle for her own hand under the covers when she could have that.

Whatever Victor saw that night, of her slender arms and straining muscles, as she held onto the sink against the pace of Draco’s thrusts, became what she wanted him to see. She’d had no idea Victor would pull a stunt like this.

Now, wearing Draco’s image, Victor was an impostor. She much would’ve preferred that he show up as himself. That way, she could enjoy the differences. The variety. She’d come to love her sweet vanilla, but dark and gruff had its appeal. She’d have to wait and see if he was any good. If he knew what he was doing, she’d invite him back as himself. If he kept his mouth shut and didn’t spoil it, she’d play along.


	2. Sweets for Bella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even bad girls like nice things.

Credit: Warner Bros.

* * *

She kept her prisoner, not because she hated her, but because she loved her. Hermione’s innocence was a reflection of what she, herself, could never get back. The younger witch’s youth and light were elixirs to the weariness of being a mad, angry, and shunned thing that was only good for a cage. Hurting her was for show. To set and example. Once she had this sweet thing behind closed doors, on clean, soft sheets, she’d heal her wounds. Shed use touch to tickle those curves like the slender violin they were. She’d teach this witch how to play her exquisite instrument. Her screams would echo throughout the manor for different reasons. She’d let everyone think she was torturing the girl. But that little witch would always know that she screamed from more pleasure than her body could handle. From the revulsion of having Bella’s touch go so deeply to her soul. She would be haunted by it, and would never be able to let another holding her, man or woman, do so without remembering how sweet Bella had made it. The cruelty being, that she had not been cruel at all.

Bellatrix could’ve done unforgivable, predictable things to a helpless girl like Hermione. Instead, she chose terrible pleasure, which was by far, the worst thing should could’ve done. Putting her bow-shaped lips where the girl could not bear to have them, was by far, the most powerful way to indulge in her sweetness. All the old cliches were true. How could she not resist? Happy, sky-blue cotton, muggle underwear. So thin, delicate, and quaint. Adolescent thighs, unsure in adulthood and trembling from the threat of being caressed and having to respond to so much unwanted sensation. How could she not want something this pure and innocent for her dark self? She may not be nice, or sugar and spice. But this tender witch’s beauty fascinated her all the same, and why shouldn’t she have nice things? Evil ugly people, appreciated beauty. Even a Death Eater, wanted to touch that glowing white bird, should it fly so close.

She’d let her live. That way, the world would have two witnesses to her select adoration. And Hermione would have secrets that she’d take to her grave.


End file.
